


Passing Storm

by Nickidemus



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There seems to be little reason for hope, even with the battle won. But Faramir gives Eowyn reason to see light rather than darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing Storm

Eowyn took to wandering often in those first days, but never so far or winding a trail that Faramir could not find her. In his mind, that proved she wanted to be found, that she needed him following her in the dark. He was certain they’d find the light together, and he gave her these assurances, even though her eyes were so often clouded with her dark thoughts. Even in these new days, a new age begun, there was an ache.

He wished only for her to know that he shared in what she felt. Her pain radiated outward and into him, but more than that, he felt pain of his own. And in these quiet times after all was done and there was no need of duty to fill the spaces between, he felt the weight of all that had befallen them as fully as she.

He found her in a dark place, one shadowed by great rocks, which he had no doubt suited her mood. She was particularly excellent at doing that, at going where her heart called her. And it called her to despair now and shadow, so that is where she sat, looking to him when she heard his approach.

“Would you tell me where your thoughts go, fair lady?” he asked.

She tried to smile, but her face held a bitter cast. “Where it is they always go,” she murmured. “It is so soon after the storm, and while others see sun breaking through in great shafts, such hope in their eyes…”

“You see the mists of rain that have not yet ceased,” he said. “You see the dark threatening to close again.”

Her lip trembled, and she grew angry at the weakness she felt in it, fear of showing this part of her to anyone. “I see my poor, dead uncle,” she snarled. “I hear his words to me, and I would find solace in what I heard in them. Yet my heart pains to know how far away his gaze has been taken. That I shall never hear him speak of me or to me again.”

He joined her, slowly as if approaching a wild horse that might be frightened by his presence and flee.

“And more,” she growled, trying to fight sorrow with anger until the two became indistinguishable. “I think of times so long past and yet holding all the sting of a sword freshly cut into my flesh. I think of my mother and the waste of her, and I swear I shall not become that! All the world seems to close in, every moment of pity and every moment when I felt a lecherous eye on me from the same wicked man who would see Rohan burn. And I feel as if a fire would eat me from within and down until I was all but black bones.”

Eowyn shook under the force of all she’d said, having wanted to say none of it. And yet compelled, because this was Faramir, a man of such immense kindness she felt she’d never met his like before. Everything in her heart felt tugged tenderly toward his, so that when his arm went around her, to warm and comfort, she felt herself turn toward him. Not only going freely, but grasping for him as if he might save her from being buried alive by these thoughts.

“You are none of what you think you are,” he murmured into her hair, the scent of strong leather and fresh leaves clinging to her beautifully. “You are neither weak nor wasting. You are grieved.”

“As are you, and you carry it with dignity, my lord,” she murmured, her breath warm against his neck.

“My grief…” He wanted to laugh then, unable to find suitable words. “I have grieved long for my father’s heart. The death of his body was swift, but the death of his mind and heart lingered. For an age, it seemed. I fear to speak aloud what has beset my mind once I was able to think it. That it was more a blessing, his passing. I should mourn rather the man who died long before and left a husk of what he once was. He was but a shell and no longer my father.

“If my heart grieves, it is for Boromir. Not only that he was my brother, but that he would have celebrated long and heartily to see Gondor rise against the Dark Lord.” He smiled then, deeply enough to show teeth. “He would’ve drained the city of ale single-handedly.”

Eowyn felt herself laugh then, for the first time in far too long. She brushed her fingers across his cheek and paused at the damp of tears there. The dark was so total she’d not known he wept. She moved to kiss him there, salt on her lips, her tongue sweeping across them for a better taste.

It began with that kiss. It went on to the press of lips upon lips, her tears and his mingling. This gentle exchange, the slip of tongues, was joined by the wandering of hands. He’d never intended to grasp her or fondle her, but in trying to bring her more fully against him, his hand swept against her side, under her arm, against the side swell of her breast. She was sparsely dressed for the cold night, in only her sleeping gown. Her pale skin was chilled, and his arms went around her to warm her more fully, his hand now gliding down to her round backside, bare under the gown.

His name was breathed against his lips, her hands moving under his loose tunic to the ties at the front of his breeches. He nearly protested, but in that moment he felt a purity, a rightness he could not interrupt. Their hearts were heavy; he had spoken true in that. Their bodies ached and hungered, lonely and sparking with every touch. If they could do nothing else, if they could not conquer grief until they had simply let it pass, they could make a ritual of one another’s bodies. They could lie open and joined.

He laid her down beneath him, letting his soft, tempered kisses rain on her, her hands and voice guiding him. He drew the neck of her gown down beneath her breasts, bathing them lavishly with his tongue as she dragged the hem of her gown up to her hips. She yanked his breeches down, impatient and coaxing him with her hands. He planted one hand against the cold ground, the other wrapping around her waist, and let her guide him inside.

There came from her a violent arch and a cry, and he hovered his lips against hers. He sheathed him so tightly, he wanted to ask if he’d hurt her, but she moved beneath him in long strokes, her entire body following this smooth motion. The wet sounds of this deep kiss began to fill the silence, their harsh breaths as well. His hips rose and fell against her, and their lips met and parted to gasp and cry out and growl low with pleasure.

Her nails digging into his sides, as if urging a beast faster. His mouth latching onto her breast and making her writhe. Her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth up to hers to lock and catch her final cries. Finally, he was slick with her and her with him so that it dripped on the grass, on her gown where it was pinned beneath her. Frenzied though they’d been, his tenderness covered her as easily as his body. She found the nuzzle of his face against hers sweet enough for her to cry the loveliest tears, replacing the ones she’d cried before with something much more welcome.

Faramir dressed her again, gentle and kissing every inch of pale skin as it disappeared beneath her gown. “I’d carry you back to your bed, my lady, if you would permit me.”

Eowyn smiled at that. “Would it be an insult if I asked to walk back under my own power? With you at my side?”

He cupped her cheek, his fingers teasing at the fall of blond hair over her shoulder. “No,” he assured her, his voice low and his eyes bright even in the dark. “You would not be yourself if you did not remind me of your strength. I would be honored to walk at your side.”

She rose then on legs that did feel weaker than before and walked close at his side, his arm around her. “My lord… How would it then be if I asked you to come to my bed?”

“I’d be just as honored to do that, as well,” he said, feeling his heart lighten as it had not in years.


End file.
